Poker Face
by Alydia Rackham
Summary: Lisbon receives a frightening text message that forces her to reveal her hand. (Set sometime during season 5)
1. The Bet

_Lisbon receives a frightening text message that causes her to reveal her hand. (Set sometime during season 5)_

Poker Face

CHAPTER ONE

_The Bet_

"Um, _where _is Jane?" Lisbon demanded, heels clicking as she marched into the bullpen, waving toward his empty leather couch. Midmorning light streamed through the large windows. Rigsby, Cho and Van Pelt turned from their computer screens to glance at their boss. They all shook their heads.

"No clue," Cho answered.

Lisbon held up her arm and looked at her watch.

"It's almost eleven o'clock!"

"He hasn't even checked in today," Van Pelt added, frowning.

"Wonder what he's up to," Rigsby mused.

"Well, since we don't have a case right now," Cho said. "We at least know he's probably not out breaking into houses or interrogating the wrong people."

"Fine," Lisbon sighed. "If he wants to play hooky, that's his business, I guess. Let me know when he gets in."

"Okay, Boss," Rigsby called after her as she turned and swept out toward her office. Lisbon ground her teeth. What did he think this was, anyway? A nightclub or a theatre where he could just show up when he felt like it and leave when he got bored?

She shoved through her office door. The blinds clanked against the glass. She swung around her desk, sat heavily down in her chair and scooted toward her screen. With a loud tap on her keyboard she banished the screen saver. Heaving another sigh, Lisbon set her fingers on home row and set to typing rapidly, hoping she could get through this report in time to actually have lunch today.

Only the clacking of keys filled the silence for about twenty minutes. A line formed between Lisbon's eyebrows as she focused on translating the details of the last case into succinct, official language, whilst leaving out as many of Jane's shenanigans as possible. Three pages. She paused and scrolled up. She'd probably have it wrapped up before she completed a fourth.

_Beep_.

She blinked, frowned. Glanced over at her suit coat. She'd shrugged it off earlier and left it on her couch—it was too warm to wear it.

_Beep_.

She paused, groaned. Found her stopping point and kept typing.

_Beep_.

"Gah," she huffed, shoved back from her desk, got up, came around and grabbed her coat, then dug in her pocket for her phone. "This had better be _some_ excuse…" she gritted. Her fingers closed around her cell, she pulled it out, tossed down her jacket and lifted the phone to see the screen.

She frowned again. A blocked number.

She flipped the phone open.

_1 new message_.

She opened it.

Striking black words on a white background. She read them through once, quickly—then stopped. She read them again. And again.

She went cold. All the way down to her marrow. Her breathing slowed to nothing, and her heart shuddered inside her chest. Her vision blurred and blanked. She swayed.

Numbly, she opened her mouth. Van Pelt's name—Cho's name, Rigsby's—surged through her lungs, into her throat—

Caught. She choked, and closed her mouth. Her gut clamped down. She spun, her vision flaring back to vibrant clarity, and stared out through the blinds at the bullpen. Her team was right out there, working quietly. Rigsby leaned around and stylishly tossed a stapler to Cho. Van Pelt laughed.

Her legs suddenly weak, Lisbon crossed and shut the blinds. They clashed against the windows. Her hands shook as she opened her phone again and hit speed dial. She held the phone against her ear with one hand and wrapped the other arm around her middle, tight. The phone rang once. Twice. She bit the inside of her lip.

_"We're sorry."_

Lisbon jolted. A strident, female computer voice charged through her head.

_"The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Goodbye."_

"Wh…_What?" _Lisbon gasped. She hurriedly hung up, then dialed the number again, this time from memory. She pressed the phone to her ear and held her breath.

Ring. Ring.

_"We're sorry. The number you have dialed—_"

Lisbon slapped the phone shut. Then, she opened it again, and brought up that text message. Her brow twisted as she took a fistful of her hair. For a long moment, she stood in the middle of her office, frozen, the words of the text message burning against her eyes. Her heartbeat raged against her breastbone.

She closed the message and looked at her main screen.

_11:30_

She rammed her phone into her pants pocket, turned on her heel and pulled her door open. In afterthought, she forced herself to halfway pause by the bullpen door.

"Stay here. I'm leaving," she called.

"Where to?" Van Pelt asked.

"To find Jane," Lisbon answered, already halfway to the elevator. She reached down and felt for her gun—its solid weight rested against her hip. She stepped into the elevator and ordered it downward. The doors eased closed. Her mind scrabbled and spun, flooding with countless possibilities. And with every new one that occurred to her, she had to fight to keep her heartbeat from deafening her.

LLLLL

Lisbon flexed her stiff hands. Her knuckles lost some of their whiteness as her fingers closed again around her steering wheel. But her jaw would not unclench. She stepped down on the accelerator as the sidewalks, cars and buildings whipped by on either side. She was breaking the speed limit. By a lot. She pushed harder.

She swung around a corner, her eyes sweeping across the residential street ahead of her. There. There was his house—she remembered the front of it, the stairs…

Wait.

Sunshine glinted off the light blue paint of his ugly little car. It was parked in the street—at a funny angle.

Lisbon pulled in right behind it, slammed on the breaks and threw her car into park. She shoved the car door open and jumped out, slamming it shut even as she hurried forward.

"Jane?" she shouted—but she could already see that nobody was in the car. She flanked it, assessing it, her right hand opening and closing. The front end of the car was turned away from the curb, and so were the front wheels. The windows stood half down. She peered closer. The doors were unlocked.

She straightened, searching past the car amongst the brown grass and shrubbery of the front yard, the porch, the windows...

"Jane?" Her voice echoed up and down the street. In the distance, traffic quietly roared. She rounded the car, her shoes scraping on the cement, and charged up the sidewalk. She hopped up the steps and rang the doorbell.

_ Ding. Dong._

No answer.

"Jane? Jane, what's wrong with your phone? Jane!"

No answer.

She beat on the door. The hammering resounded through the empty house. Frantically, she grabbed the knob and twisted—

The door came open.

Lisbon's eyes went wide. For just an instant, she poised on the threshold, staring into the entryway.

Then, she noisily yanked her weapon from its holster, clicked off the safety, pointed the gun ahead of her with both hands and advanced.

She moved swiftly from room to room, barely breathing, eyes flicking back and forth. Nothing moved. Her soft steps reverberated against blank, cream-colored walls. She maneuvered carefully around a dusty tricycle in a side room, and secured the lower floor. Then, she turned toward the staircase.

She hesitated. Then, bracing herself, she hurried up the stairs, down a short hall, paused for just a second, then kicked the bedroom door open. It hit the inside wall with a bang.

A fiendish, blood-red smiley face glared out at her.

She leaped backward.

She threw out one hand and slapped it against the wall to catch herself. Her heart pounded so fast she couldn't hear. She blinked four times, shook her head…

She remembered.

She sucked in a deep breath, shook herself, and cursed.

She took firm hold of her weapon, marched forward and entered the bedroom.

Nobody.

She left it, and canvassed the whole upper storey. It was empty. The whole house was empty.

Lisbon holstered her gun, swearing again, a knot twisting through her chest. She charged down the stairs and left the house, barely shutting the door behind her. She got back in her car and started it up, then sped down the street—

But now she didn't know where she was going.

She pulled out her phone and hit speed dial again.

"_We're sorry. The number you have—_"

She hung up, then hit a different speed dial.

"Cho," she snapped as soon as he answered, steering haphazardly with one hand as she pushed down on the throttle.

"Hey, Boss."

"Any sign of Jane?"

"Nope. We've been trying to call him—"

"Yeah, the number's disconnected," Lisbon finished.

"Should we try tracking his car?"

"His car's here at his house," Lisbon answered.

"But _he's _not?"

"No. House is empty. No sign of forced entry."

"Any idea where we should look?"

"Try flagging him. See if he pops up anywhere. Let the local cops know he's missing. And the chief. And keep your eyes open."

"Will do."

Lisbon hung up again.

And all of a sudden she couldn't breathe.

She instantly pulled over in front of a thrift store, parked, and pressed a hand to her heart. Her vision flickered. She desperately disentangled herself from her seatbelt and scrambled out of the car, then stopped on the sidewalk. Traffic bustled down the four-lane main street. Shop doors opened and closed, their chimes jingling. She shut her eyes and took deep, measured breaths—she smelled oranges.

Her whole body shivered.

_ Dong…dong…_

Lisbon's whole frame jerked. Her eyes flew open.

_Dong…dong…_

She fumbled for her phone, pulled it out and stared at it.

_11:59_

The nearby clock tower continued to intone its deep, steady calls. Lisbon counted six of them…

The clock on her phone blinked.

_12:00_

Sensation drained from her body. The bells rang out six more times, then fell silent. Lisbon stared at the screen.

Slowly, she covered her mouth with a cold hand. Her stomach turned over. And she sank down onto the very edge of a bench.

She sat. Completely still. She had no way of knowing how long. She couldn't feel, hear or see anything. Her phone lay in her limp hand. A few people walked by. One or two glanced at her. Nobody said anything.

A small, repetitious sound. An irritating one.

Her brow furrowed. She blinked absently, and pulled in a breath that _hurt_…

She glanced down.

Her phone was ringing.

A strange number.

She opened it and held it to her ear. But her lips wouldn't move—her throat wouldn't work. She tried to unlock her jaw…

"Lisbon," a voice said. "I can _see _you."

Her eyes flashed—and she paralyzed.

Then, her jaw unlocked, her lips moved…

But her voice made no sound.

"…Jane…" she mouthed.

"To your right. Warmer, warmer…"

She turned her head, feeling like her bones were made of iron. She frowned out across the street, her heart rate picking up again as her breathing staggered…

He stood on the opposite sidewalk, one hand in his pocket, the other hand holding a phone to his ear. He wore gray pants, a white shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a gray vest. A slight wind tousled his gold curls. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, and gave a casual wave. He was looking right at her—and grinning.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	2. The Bluff

_Thanks for the lovely response! I hope you continue to enjoy!_

_VVV_

CHAPTER TWO

_The Bluff_

Lisbon stood up. The phone drifted down from her ear as Jane put his own phone in his pocket, glanced up and down the street, and trotted out into a gap in traffic. A van passed behind him—he hopped up the curb and gave her another grin.

"Lisbon!" he said brightly. "This is a surprise. What are you doing down here?"

Lisbon's mouth fell open. She stared up at him, directly into his eyes—vivid, laughing eyes that always seemed to change color according to what he was wearing. In a breathless flicker, she took in the rest of him: unique and handsome face, the deep smile-lines that softened his aspect…his wind-tousled, sunshine hair…the playful cant of his head...the straight, relaxed, friendly way he stood facing her. She returned her gaze to his eyes. Her vision almost blacked out again.

"What…What am _I _doing down here?" she burst out. She pointed to him. "What are _you _doing down here? With no phone, no nothing—it's past noon and you can't even pick up a pay phone somewhere to call the office and—"

Jane's mirth vanished in a snap.

"Woah, woah, woah, _Lisbon_," He frowned, holding up a placating hand. "It's no big deal—"

"No big deal," she repeated, stuffing her own phone in her pocket. "Right—we have no idea where you are _all_ morning, I call you, the number's disconnected. I go to your house—"

His eyebrows shot up.

"Wait—you went to my house?"

"Yeah, Jane!" she barked back, seeing red—though her legs still shook. "That's what happens, okay? And what do I see when I get there?"

"Lisbon—"

"Your car's still there but it's parked at a weird angle and it's _unlocked_—"

"_Lisbon_—

"And guess what, your _house _is _unlocked_, but there's no sign of _you_ anywhere—"

"Lisbon!" he cried sharply. "Will you just hold on a second and let me explain

everything?"

Lisbon's throat closed—she swallowed hard and tried to keep breathing. He watched her uneasily for a second.

"It's a hot day out today, isn't it?" he said. Lisbon glanced around, shakily indignant.

"Yeah, so?"

"_So_…" Jane said pointedly. "I decided not to wear my suit coat. So I put my phone in my pants pocket. _But,_" he held up a finger. "When I sat down in my car, my phone fell out onto the street." He shrugged and winced. "Didn't realize it until _after _I'd shut the door and run over it with my back tire. So I stopped, put the car in park, and got out." He gestured aimlessly. "Found my phone smashed into about a million pieces, so I picked up what I could and walked a couple blocks down to the cell phone store here." He turned and pointed across the street. "It wasn't the company that I had my original plan with, though—but I knew I needed a phone or I wouldn't be much help to you guys—so I had to use _their _phone to call up my old provider and cancel my plan and then get a new plan and phone with these guys." He turned another smile on her and put his hands in his pockets. "I'm actually saving quite a bit of money this time around. And I get more free texting."

The word "texting" sent a pang of nausea straight through Lisbon's gut.

"So while you were doing all that calling," Lisbon said. "You didn't think to call _me_, even once, just to tell me you were going to be late for work?"

He frowned again.

"Look, I didn't think it was that big of a deal—"

"Well you thought wrong," she shot back. "Get in the car."

She stormed away from him, around to the driver's side, and climbed in, shivers running all through her. She pulled her door shut and buckled herself in—but her hands could hardly work the latch.

The passenger door opened. Jane leaned in for a moment—she could feel him studying her, but she stared straight ahead, both hands on the wheel. Finally, he got in, shut his door and buckled in too. Lisbon started the engine and pulled out into traffic.

"Okay, what's going on?" Jane asked, looking at her again.

"Nothing."

"C'mon, Lisbon, that stuff never works on me—"

"You're skipping work," Lisbon answered.

"I was _not _skipping work, I was getting a new phone," Jane insisted. "I mean, what, do we have a new case like _right _now that you need me for?"

"No."

"Then what's the matter?" Jane demanded. "We all worked triple-overtime last week closing a case—Is there something wrong with my taking a morning off?"

"There is if you don't _tell _anyone about it!" Lisbon shot him a look. He gave her one right back.

"What, are we in kindergarten now?"

"You're acting like it."

He reached forward and flipped on the radio. She frowned.

"What are you doing?"

"Um, what does it look like?"

"Turn it off."

"No. I want to listen to the traffic reports. Help get us there faster."

"I don't need the traffic reports."

Jane fiddled with the knobs. The radio screeched.

"Lisbon, it'll help you get around any traffic jams—"

"I know how it works, Jane," she spat—and her heart suddenly started racing again. "Leave the radio alone—"

"I'll have it here in just a second—"

Lisbon reached out to knock his hand away. He jerked—their knuckles collided.

The warmth of his skin shocked her.

She snatched his hand.

He froze.

Lisbon blinked, her brow twisting as she tried to focus on the bright road—even as her fingers closed tightly and awkwardly around his thumb.

She tried to unclamp her hand. Tried to force her fingers open. They wouldn't obey her.

She sucked in a breath. She lowered his hand down onto the center console, shakily slid her fingertips up across his palm and intertwined their fingers. Then, she unwillingly tightened. But something inside her chest loosened, just a fraction. She could feel his warmth, now. His pulse.

Jane didn't say anything. He stared at their hands, then up at her. She did not turn her head. She stared at the road. And she didn't let go. She gripped him tighter.

Jane shifted.

For a terrifying moment, Lisbon thought he was going to pull away—

He leaned slightly toward her. His fingers closed, and he rubbed his thumb against the back of hers.

Lisbon took a shuddering breath, then another. She swallowed hard. Kept driving. And didn't let go of his hand.

LLLLL

Lisbon stared absently at her computer screen. A long line of PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP marred the last phrase she'd been typing. Which was the same phrase she'd been typing at 11:30 that morning. It was now 4:30 in the afternoon. She'd done nothing the whole day except shut herself in her office and re-read the report. And shoot glances at her cell phone, perched malignantly on the edge of her desk.

The door clicked and gapped open. Slightly. She looked up, then instantly back at her screen. She'd caught enough of a glimpse to see that Jane was leaning halfway in.

"Hey," he said, a half smile in his voice.

"Hey," she managed, clicking her cursor up next to the long line of P's and starting to methodically delete them.

"So, uh…" he cleared his throat and came inside, letting the door shut behind him. He put his hands in his pockets and lowered his head as he came to stand in front of her desk. He looked at her, keeping his head down. "I know something else is bothering you than my just not…showing up for work." He waved his hand loosely, then put it back in his pocket. He waited. Lisbon did not look at him. She hit the "back space" button four more times, eliminating the last "P."

"What, you're not going to talk to me now, is that it?" Jane prodded. "Or you want me to guess?"

Lisbon swallowed. Said nothing. Her stomach felt hollowed out, her hands cold.

"It isn't hard to decipher, Lisbon," he said, stepping even closer. "We don't have a case, there's no particular urgency here at the office, so I have to _assume_," he leaned toward her, then straightened. "That you received some sort of word, something that made you suspicious—a message maybe, or a signal—that something had happened, or _would _happen to me. Something horrible, enough for you to try calling me over and over like that. The disconnected number naturally made you more concerned, as did my abandoned car and empty house. I can see why you were nearly frantic there at the end—what I _don't _see is why you were by yourself."

Lisbon lifted her eyes to him without turning toward him. He raised his eyebrows and nodded, pointing at her.

"You didn't bring Cho or anybody along with you. You told them to stay here. And you didn't tell them _why _you were going to find me, you didn't tell them about any message or signal. So what was it?" he wondered. "Did somebody tell you they were going to kidnap me, and if you told anybody they'd shoot me?"

"Why does it matter now?" Lisbon demanded, though weakly, turning back to her computer. "You're fine. No harm, no foul."

"I don't understand this," Jane murmured, as if stunned by her whole bearing. "Talk to me, Lisbon. What message aren't you telling me about?"

Lisbon clamped her teeth, but though her fingers rested on the keyboard, she couldn't find the strength to type.

"Okay, one way to find out, I guess," Jane muttered, and swiped her phone up off her desk.

She whirled toward him, half reaching out—

He stared right back into her eyes. She stilled. She swallowed.

There was no use in throwing herself across the desk to pry it out of his hands.

Or maybe there was.

He instantly backed up, as if reading her mind. He flipped the phone open and started pushing buttons. Lisbon sank helplessly back down into her chair.

She watched him as he scanned, his thumb flipping to her inbox.

Then, his whole frame settled. Turned motionless.

Lisbon stopped breathing.

He stood fixed, unmoving and staring, for several minutes.

Finally, he spoke—barely audibly.

"This is the message you got this morning?"

For a long time, Lisbon couldn't say anything.

"Yes," she finally whispered, closing her hands to fists under her desk top.

"And you…you reacted to _this _by charging out into the city, calling me over and over, breaking into my house—"

"Jane…" she tried—but he turned to her—

With a fierce, open, blazing and severe look that turned her blood to ice. She wanted to turn away—she couldn't. Her gaze fluttered, and she trembled.

"That…was very foolish of you, Lisbon," he said hoarsely. He watched her for a moment longer, his mouth hardening, then tossed the phone, open, back down onto her desk. It spun. Jane turned, pulled open the door and left her alone.

The phone slowed its spinning, and stopped. Lisbon blinked. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision—but she could still read those striking black words on the bright white background:

**"The one you love will be dead by noon today. -RJ."**

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	3. Call

_Hope you like:)_

_VVVVV_

Chapter Three

_Call_

The sun had set. Long ago, everyone had trickled out and gone home. The office lay quiet. Lisbon finally finished the last sentence of her lackluster report, leaned back in her chair and rested her fingers against her lips. She gave an absent glance to her phone, which sat folded where it had been all day.

She sighed, leaned forward and stood up, wincing as her sore back protested. She looked around her office. Her stomach sank. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and her whole body ached. But she wasn't ready to face the silence and purposelessness of her empty apartment. She set her jaw. Okay. She'd go get some coffee and find some more paperwork to do. There was always more paperwork to do…

She rounded her desk, pulled the door open and strode out, ignoring the pangs in her legs.

She sensed him instantly—a figure in the bullpen, sitting on the leather couch. She jerked her head away, avoiding contact.

"Lisbon," he called, and out of the corner of her vision, she saw him get up and start toward her. She didn't answer—she kept walking, turned left and entered the kitchenette. She went right up to the coffee maker, opened the cabinet and fished out the filters. Lisbon heard his cautious, uneven footsteps approach her, then stop just inside the kitchenette. Lisbon took hold of the coffee can and slid it across the counter toward her…

But all at once, she couldn't find the motivation to open it. At all. She just stood there, drawing shallow, painful breaths. Waiting.

"Um," Jane began, then cleared his throat again. "I'm sorry about what I said. Earlier."

She turned her head slightly, and risked looking at him. He had his hands in his pockets once more, his head lowered, but he met her gaze. He shrugged one shoulder, and flashed his eyebrows as he turned to consider the doorframe. "I mean, it _was _foolish of you…"

Lisbon swallowed. He looked at the floor, and his voice quieted.

"But if I'd gotten that message I would have done the same thing."

He lifted his eyes to hers. And he gazed at her openly, solemnly, without a hint of teasing. Lisbon had only seen that look in his brilliant eyes a few times before: when he was being completely, fearfully honest with her. He swallowed too, looked straight at her, and didn't move.

Lisbon's entire heart thrilled. Electricity shot from the center of her chest all through her arms to the tips of her fingers. Her throat closed.

Jane shifted his weight.

The moment broke.

"But you understand what's going on here, don't you?" he asked, taking a step closer. Lisbon mentally staggered, but tried to iron out her expression. She resolutely studied the trash can.

"It _is_ Red John. I'm sure of it," Jane said, low and urgent as he gestured carefully. "But he's just playing with you, Lisbon. Or at least trying to. It's like a game of poker—he's trying to get you to gamble the way _he _wants you to gamble, not the way your common sense tells you to."

Lisbon made herself look up at Jane now, because she knew he was about to insist that she do so. He addressed her pointedly, making sure she heard every word.

"You can't let him," Jane shook his head, holding her attention. "He'll throw everything at you to try and get in your head and get you to fold, even if you've got the winning cards. But you _have _to work on your poker face, Lisbon. You can't let him even _suspect _that he's gotten to you." His voice lowered even more—hardened. "If you want to defeat somebody like Red John, there are a few luxuries that other people take for granted that you just can't afford."

Lisbon couldn't look at him anymore, but she nodded once, then again more firmly—even as everything inside her crumbled to pieces. The electricity seeped out of her and left her cold. She knew what he was trying to say.

She braced herself up, putting on a careless front.

"Yeah, okay," she said. "I got it. No problem."

But her voice betrayed her. It wavered as she said the last word—and her eyebrows twitched together in an expression of pain.

One that he instantly caught.

"Oh, Lisbon—" he said suddenly, his own expression sharpening.

"No, I understand what you mean," she insisted, holding up a hand and shaking her head. "I'm…I'm fine. Got it."

She stuffed her own hands in her pockets, trying not to let her frame wilt as hurt danced around inside her ribs.

Jane hesitated, as if standing on a ledge. His jaw tightened, he glanced back down the hall…

Stepped toward her, took her by the shoulders, leaned in and pressed a warm, firm kiss to her lips.

Lisbon drew a startled breath. The next moment, he broke the kiss, pressed his face into the crook of her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist and back, pulling her against him.

And all at once, Lisbon found herself in the exact place she'd wanted to be all day.

She immediately encircled his neck with both arms and buried her face in his collar—he held her tighter, so she could feel every breath, all of his warmth at once. She curled her fingers through his hair—something she had never let herself do—and breathed him in, even as her lips burned and her heart thudded inside her. She closed her eyes.

Neither of them spoke. He just held her for a long time, and she gripped him with all her strength. She sighed deeply, then sighed again, feeling tension ease out of her body. She melted against him, willing to stand this way all evening, listening to him breathe, strands of his hair curling around her fingers…

Footsteps. Footsteps down the hall, coming toward them.

With reluctance that she felt in her bones, Jane slid back out of her arms. His hands glided down to her wrists, then gripped her fingers. He smiled gently at her.

"Poker face," he whispered, then winked. She almost smiled. He squeezed her hands, then let go.

Rigsby swung around the corner, and raised his eyebrows at her.

"Hey, Boss. Ready for your ride, or do you still need more time?"

"What?" she blinked.

"Oh, I called Rigsby," Jane pointed at him. "Told him you were working late and you were nice enough to loan me your car, since you dragged me to work without my own vehicle. This kind gentleman offered to take you home himself."

"Um…okay," Lisbon nodded. "Sure."

Jane seemed mildly surprised at her unwillingness to fight. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"But you owe me. In fact, you'd better be here when _I _get here in the morning, writing out your part of the reports."

"Meh," he waved her off. "Where are your keys?"

"In my suit coat pocket," she answered. She held up a finger in warning. "Not a scratch."

"Not a scratch," Jane mimicked primly, turned to pass Rigsby, then stopped and looked back at her. "Hey."

"What?"

"Let's see a smile."

She tried not to.

She didn't succeed.

He grinned at her.

"G'night, Teresa," he said quietly.

"Goodnight," she answered. His smile softened for a moment. Then, he left and headed to her office. Lisbon took a deep breath and turned to Rigsby.

"Okay, um, I think I'll just proofread my report one more time, then you can take me home." She rubbed her forehead. "I'm starting to get a migraine."

"Long day, huh?" Rigsby chuckled. Lisbon smiled crookedly.

"You have no idea."

FIN

_Review!_


End file.
